


Sleep

by JustaGibbsgirl



Series: Six Degrees of Jaqueline Sloane [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Slibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustaGibbsgirl/pseuds/JustaGibbsgirl
Summary: A case study of Special Agent Jacqueline Sloane
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: Six Degrees of Jaqueline Sloane [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847821
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	Sleep

She was a light sleeper. And if anyone asked how he knew that tidbit of information, he would deny ever having known it. There was nothing sordid about the knowledge. Just a safety that they felt with each other that, previous to knowing each other, didn't exist in their lives. He saw her as a shelter. There were moments when he saw the same sentiment reflected in her as well. He had always said you could tell what someone wanted simply by looking in their eyes. Sometimes they reflected change. Sometimes they reflected greed laced with evil. Sometimes pain. And sometimes...sometimes staring into green eyes left you alone in a basement with a bottle of bourbon and a boat named Hollis.

He had regrets. Plenty of them, in fact. But the women he'd hurt after Shannon? Those regrets were full and solid. They carried a weight with them so heavy that often he didn’t have the strength to carry them down the creaking basement stairs. The heaviness of those regrets made him feel as if he were Atlas, crushed under the weight of the world. Some he regretted more so than others. Because those women hadn't known, hadn't had the facts, the full picture of how deep inside his own mind he had sunk. All had come into the situation unprepared. All had left destroyed. Even Hollis. Especially Hollis. Deer in the headlights, head-on collision, no survivors...blindsided. That particular regret sat tight in his famous gut to this day.

**

Most, if not all, of what he knew about Jack’s sleeping patterns had been known to him before her head ever hit his pillow. Very rarely was there an instance, a night when it wasn’t predetermined by the events of the day. He could watch her as it unfolded, see the emotions slowly umbrella over her, and pinpoint the exact moment she would appear on his doorstep, unapologetic, undemanding, but always so very sure of what she needed from him.

His knowledge of her sleeping patterns came down to simple observation. Too many nights he had looked up from his sanding and sawdust to see her sitting on a five gallon paint bucket, body stretched out, arms resting on the sawhorse in front of her, and her head nestled into the crook of her elbow. Glasses askew, soft breathing, he would watch her chest rise and fall, watching for the coveted peace that both of them rarely found behind dropped lashes.

The occasions that she had surprised him in relation to her slumber he could count on one hand. Three out of five of those nights had been because she needed him. Two out of the five were because he had needed her.

The first time it had happened, Jack had slid in next to him, not caring about rules or consequences or what would happen over coffee in the morning. There had been no forewarning. No text asking if there was space for her. The events that lead to her warmth next to him, he would never know, because he never asked and she never offered. Once his brain had accepted what his heart and body already knew about her presence, there was no reason to question, only accept. And he accepted wordlessly. At first, the patterns of creaks on the stairs had fooled his sleepy mind into believing it was Shannon. His body and mind might have been trained as an agent and a sniper, but his heart had never untrained itself from the redhead’s light step across the hardwood.

He had turned in his sleep, arm reaching, finding and curling her into his chest. His face pushed into her hair, expecting silken red, his brain waiting for the familiar scent to overwhelm him, comfort him. But it was a different scent that filled his lungs and it took a heartbeat for his sleepy mind to place it, to recognize the curves and heat of the woman who had never shared his bed but that his mind knew intimately. The slight shift of his shoulder, the flex of his fingers over hers, the movement of his leg sliding between hers, all unnoticed as her even breathing had told him that she had gotten what she came for. Surprised as he was that she had found her way farther than the couch, he had welcomed her soft solace and selfishly took the peace that her sleeping form offered to him.

**

So being able to slip into Jack's office unnoticed was a rare feat, even on a good day. But today? Lengthy interrogations, chasing lead after dead-end lead….today had been a bitch. The testament to which was draped across the couch in front of him, with her shoes kicked off, glasses still perched atop her head and her soft breathing calming him even from a distance. He set their coffees down and quietly sank into the closest chair, lifting his long legs to rest his feet on the table in front of him. Settling his hands in his lap, he tipped his head back, and, after glancing over at the reason for his smile each day, closed his eyes and let sleep take over.

She _was_ a light sleeper. And if anyone had asked her how he had found out that tidbit of information, she would deny she ever let him. Nothing sordid about the knowledge _per se_ , just private. She sought him out in moments where failure's shadows lured her into darkness. The darkness where she had failed herself, failed others around her, failed her child, failed her soul. And his comfortable old couch, the air that he breathed, his gruff, often cracking voice, had been a lullaby for her in her weakest moments since arriving in DC. Those moments were masked for others, but he saw them. The nightmares, the night terrors, the day terrors...all crisscrossed like the marks etched into her skin. There were the terrors from war, the terrors of giving away the flesh of her womb, the terrors that anxiety always produced for her. But a peaceful sleep had been something that his soul had offered to her before he was even aware of it himself.

Quiet as he had tried to be, she had stirred as she felt the air shift in the room when he slipped in. Her mind followed his sounds until he sank into the chair next to her. She paused for a moment, caught somewhere between slumber and sleep, waiting for the safety of his presence to allow sleep to claim her once again.


End file.
